


Darcy's Bad Day That Almost Ended in Awesomeness

by sidium



Series: Puppy Love [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Drinking, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-18 01:20:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/874053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidium/pseuds/sidium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We’re your friends. We drink. We know how to pout. We’ll come with you.” Natasha states these facts like they’re the most natural conclusion in the world and Darcy is speechless. She watches as the guys look at one another, shrug and nod.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Darcy's Bad Day That Almost Ended in Awesomeness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [holliswrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/holliswrites/gifts).



“Where the fuck is Jane?” Darcy asks no one in particular, in a voice that is far more pathetic than she wants to admit to. Clint, Bruce and Natasha, who were all sitting around in various locations of the living looked at her as though she had lost her mind. Which she was inching ever closer to.

“For real, where is she?” Darcy asked again.

“You just missed her.” Bruce said, apologetically, and he sounded so sympathetic to her without even knowing why she was upset, she kind of wanted to hug him just for being a good person.

“She left with Thor about thirty seconds ago.” Clint clarifies, and if he thinks she missed the leer he gave her outfit, he’s got another thing coming.

“Eyes.” She says, snapping her fingers across her chest and pointing at her face, “Up here.” Clint quickly corrected his gaze, only looking mildly contrite. She kinda wishes Steve were here. He’d maintain eye-contact. She knows she looks fucking fabulous right now, in black skirt she’s wearing that’s just long enough to compensate for the fact that her boobs are almost too awesome to be contained by her top. She swears, no matter what anyone says, she never got a boob job. Mother Nature just loves some girls more than others. That’s it.

Anyway. Back to the problem at hand.

“Great. So, Jane’s not here. Score one more for the universe.” She laments, throwing her hands in the air and moving back towards the elevator.

Before she can make it there, Natasha speaks up. “Stop.” It is only out of pure unadulterated respect for the most bad-ass woman she’s ever met that Darcy freezes in her tracks. “Come back.” She goes with it, walking back to her previous place in front of them. “Explain.”

“Ugh!” She throws her head back and stomps her foot in a manner befitting a five-year-old, “Today effin’ sucks!” She says, taking off her three inch heels, and throwing them at the floor. She gives what feels like a full-body sigh and looks up from the floor to realize she has a captive audience.

“Okay, fine. Here’s the whole thing.” She says, and she can totally feel the word vomit rising, “So this morning I wake up to the sound of fucking construction. I hate that. I know we’re in New York so we’re all supposed to be used to that shit, but whatever. Makes me wanna punch Satan in the throat.” She keeps going, despite the fact Clint looks like he’s trying hard not to laugh.

“Then, my cat won’t stop puking everywhere, which is the grossest thing ever, so I took her to the vet and found out she’s sick. Turns out my cat has worms living in her intestines. What the hell is that? I never wanted to hear that. But it’s cool, ‘cause despite the fact I accidentally ruined my favorite t-shirt beyond repair and the Chinese place messed up my lunch order and the taxi cab driver kept asking me inappropriate questions, I have a date tonight.” Clint is still looking like he’s trying hard not to laugh, and it’s only the fact that Natasha and Bruce seem to be taking her seriously that keeps her going. ‘With a guy that was hot, and funny and smart and basically everything I like wrapped up into one gorgeous package, and I was fucking ecstatic.”

“But wait, make that ‘had.’ I ‘had’ a date tonight, because we were supposed to go out to dinner and then drinks, but no. That was an hour and a half ago. I waited nearly two fucking hours for that loser, and he stood me up. So I gave up and came here, cause I want my best friend. I wanted Jane, so we could go out drinking and just pout about everything.” At this point, Darcy can’t help the fact she really wants to start crying, and maybe that made her voice crack just a little as she finished.

“But no, she’s out with her boyfriend! Cause the universe just hates me that much today.” She puts her hand over her eyes trying to bit back tears of pure frustration at the worst day she’s had in a long time. She’s more than a little startled when she feels distinctly male arms wrap around her, and lowers her hand to see that Bruce has enveloped her in a hug. Never one to turn down a sympathetic hug from a hot guy, she leans into it and feels sorry for herself.

“Not to sound like a jerk,” Clint says, “But really? Going out drinking on a first date?”

“You know,” Darcy says, annoyed, pulling away from Bruce and standing in front of Clint sitting on the sofa, “Maybe you missed the part of my little story where I said I got stood up, but the dude didn’t show, so I’m thinking the activities I was supposed to partake in on said date are a bit of a moot point!”

Clint looks properly chastised and as she turns to sit down on the coffee table, she glimpses Natasha with the closest expression to pride she’s ever seen

“Sorry.” Clint says, quietly. Darcy cradles her head in her hands for a moment before standing.

“Okay, I’m gonna go home, and just go to sleep. See if the universe forgives me for whatever I’ve done and lets tomorrow be better.” She says, stepping around Bruce to pick up her shoes. She really should’ve known better than to throw her best pair of shoes around, fucking six hundred dollar Manolos she splurged on last year and have only worn like, four times. But seriously. Girl’s gotta go what a girl’s gotta do.

She starts walking towards the elevator again, shoes in hand when she gets stopped again. “Wait.” Natasha speaks up.

“What?” Darcy groans, turning back, yet again. She just wants to leave.

“You wanna go drink and pout?” Natasha asks.

“Ideally, yes.” Darcy confirms, “But whatever.”

“We’ll go with you.”

“What?”

“We’re your friends. We drink. We know how to pout. We’ll come with you.” Natasha states these facts like they’re the most natural conclusion in the world and Darcy is speechless. She watches as the guys look at one another, shrug and nod.

“You don’t have to... Seriously.” She says, holding her hands up in surrender. “I’m just gonna go home, watch shitty reality TV on Netflix and call it a day.”

“No. We’re going.” Natasha says, placing her book on the table next to her and standing.

\----

Funny thing, when Natasha decides to do something, no matter who else she’s included, it happens. Every time.

Which is how Darcy finds herself sitting in a booth at some bar she’s never heard of next to Natasha, wondering how her life became this. Fortunately, the alcohol is good and the company’s not half bad, so it’s not even two hours before she’s drunk enough to start ranting about the guy who stood her up. Or as he is now called, “Douche-Canoe.”

“Seriously, though,” Clint says for about the eighth time, “There’s something wrong with Douche-Canoe if a girl agrees to go out drinking on a first date and he doesn’t show. That’s like, guaranteed first date sex. You don’t walk away from that.”

She sees Bruce move sharply and Clint recoil and squawk in unexpected pain and it takes a moment for her to realize Bruce just stomped Clint’s foot under the table. She wonders what the hell Clint and Natasha have been drinking to be, perhaps, even drunker than she is, all things considered. She’s a little afraid to ask.

“Thank you, Clint.” She says, laughing at his pain, “For pointing out my inadvertent and most probable slutiness.  Next time, I shall only agree to first dates that occur in religious buildings or 50’s malt shops.” And fuck yes, bonus points for using large words when getting smashed, though she’s a long way from smashed yet. Drunk, most likely, yes. Smashed, no.

“Good girl.” Clint raises his glass in approval, and proceeds to asks Natasha a question that Darcy knows she’ll never know because the fucker asked it in Russian. Fuck bilingual people. And not in the fun way.

“Who the fuck talks in Russian while they’re getting drunk?” Darcy asks Bruce, scrunching up one side of her face. She knows it’s unattractive, shut up. “Seriously, who does that?”

“I’m gonna guess the Russian spy and her boyfriend.” Bruce nods, confidently.

“Eh, fair enough, I guess.” Darcy shrugs. “I’m gonna learn another language, just so I can do that to them.” she says, conspiratorially, “Serve’em right.”

“I’m pretty sure they know the language you’re gonna learn.” Bruce says, taking another drink of... whatever the fuck he’s drinking. It’s not a shot and it looks like something her dad would drink, and fuck, is she avoiding that thought.

“How can they? I haven’t even decided yet.”

“They know all the languages.” Bruce explains.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

Darcy leans back against the booth a slides down, just a little and pouts as hard as she knows how. “You know, I’m surprised you’re even drinking.” She says, and Bruce raises an eyebrow.

“Why’s that?”

“Don’t play stupid.”

“A couple drinks won’t do anything. You’re safe. I promise.”

“I never thought I wasn’t.” Darcy says, blunt and honest, “I just figured it was one of those things you just didn’t do. Like eating meat or some shit.”

“Not eating a dead animal and not drinking are two totally different things.”

“I s’pose.” Darcy says, quieting down for a moment to listen to her drinking partners converse fluidly in a language she has no hope of ever understanding. The only word she can make out sounds like Natasha’s saying “yob.” She figures that’s probably wrong. She takes another drink of her Bull Frog.

“He really is an idiot.” Bruce says, and fuck, if he doesn’t sound genuine. Darcy’s not really sure what to do with that, more comfortable with Clint’s digs at her virtue.

“Clint?” Darcy asks, mis-understanding on purpose, “Yeah, I know.”

“No, I meant-"

“I know who you meant, and thank you.” She says, raising her glass and taking a long sip, “I like to think Douche-Canoe will always look back on my fabulous-ness and wonder what kind of wonderful life I went on to lead without him.”

“Oh, I’m sure he will.” Bruce agrees, and Darcy’s 85% sure he’s just humoring her, but he’s being nicer than Clint, so she doesn’t mention it.

“But how could a guy turn down a girl with a rack that awesome? Fucking idiot or gay.” Clint says to Natasha, as though Darcy wasn’t even in the room. She stares at him blankly for a moment. Before Natasha can answer, Darcy cuts in.

“Hey, cock-waffle.” She says and she’s internally gleeful that he immediately responds, as though that were his actual name, and Natasha gives a small snort of laughter. “That was in English.”

“Oops.” He says, “My bad.” He tilts his head back and downs his shot like it’s second nature, which, after as many as he’s had tonight, it probably is.

“Time to take you home, before you start saying the truly bad things.” Natasha says, standing up and pulling Clint with her.

“But they’ll be alone!” Clin argues gesturing at Darcy and Bruce, as though it would be a tragedy of unheard of proportions, or at least an offense against propriety.

“They are adults. They will be fine.” Natasha assures him, rolling her eyes at Darcy.

“Yeah, totally.” Darcy agrees, gesturing after them, “Take him away. My girls are getting spoiled by all his attention.”   

Natasha and Clint leave and the following silence is tense, and Darcy’s not having any of that. She grabs a waitress’s arm as she goes by. “Hey, can I get a Zombie, please?” She asks, and the waitress nods with a grin, walking on.

“You’ll have to forgive me,” Bruce says, and he cocks his head in confusion, “But is it safe to assume that you ordered a drink, and not something apocalyptically brain-consuming?”

“Oh.” She coughs a little awkwardly. “It’s uh, fruit juice, sugar, little bit of vodka and... about eight shots of Rum. I guess you could say it’s brain-consuming, though.”

Bruce’s eyebrows almost touch his hairline. “Is there a reason you’re trying to get as shit-faced drunk as possible, more so than fifteen minutes ago?”

“Because you and I are here without buffers, and if this is gonna get weird or awkward, I want to be too drunk to give a damn. ‘Cause in case you haven’t noticed, my night’s gone badly enough, thanks.”

Bruce looks at her sympathetically as the waitress hands her the drink and she takes a long drink of it, coughing as she swallows.

“I wasn’t aware we needed buffers,” he says quietly. Well, fuck. Eventually, she’s gonna get this right.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” She apologizes, and fuck, she should’ve known better.

“No, it’s okay. I get it.” He says, and that’s the fucking kick. He really, really doesn’t. He thinks when she says awkward, she means they don’t know each other well enough, or they don’t have enough in common. In reality, it’s awkward as fuck to try not to hit on someone twice your age who you really wanna be making out with but you know has no interest in you. Bruce has been her most enduring crush since she’s gotten involved with the Avengers Initiative, and because of his charming obliviousness, she’s done her level best to keep things cool and friendly and not weird. But this--this could get weird, without the intervention of a benevolent Zombie or ten.

But there’s no way she can say that, so she lets him think what he wants.

“I’m gonna go get another drink,” he says, and she nods.

“‘Kay.”

He’s gone, maybe thirty seconds, when the Universe decides to throw her another screwball. Just to really make her night complete.

“Hey,” she hears a voice say, and she turns just in time to see the pinnacle of frat-boy douche-baggery put his hand on her shoulder, “I was uh, wondering if you’d be interested in a little, um... offer, I guess you’d say.”

“I can virtually guarantee I’m not.” Darcy says, raising her glass in his direction and taking a drink. Frat-boy just laughs.

“Hear me out.”

“Ugh, just tell me so I can say ‘no’ and you can go back to your dude friends and tell them what a bitch I am.” She says, gesturing vaguely with her free hand.

“I’ll buy your drinks for the rest of the night if you take your top off right now.” His hand starts to travel down toward her cleavage, “And keep it off.”

Drunk or not, perhaps-slutty or not, Darcy has standards and fuck this guy. Despite her three-inch heels, she’s up and has his hand and wrist twisted so badly he’s kneeling on the floor whimpering.

“Listen, asswipe,” she says, completely fed up with everything and gladly taking it out on him, “If you so much as imagine me shirtless ever again, I am going to kick you in the nuts so hard, you’re gonna sneeze jizz.”

“Uh, ye-yes, ma’am.” He says, “I’m sorry.” And for a slightly dark moment, Darcy considers putting enough weight on his wrist to hear it snap, but honestly she doesn’t have that kind of time, and she knows the lecture from Steve would take up a good forty-five minutes, never mind the paperwork. So she lets him go and he scurries back over to his table where he’s frat-boy friends are choking on their drinks laughing.

She turns to sit back down and sees Bruce, holding a fresh drink, outright staring at her.

“Sorry.” She apologizes, embarrassed, sinking down into her seat and finishing her Zombie.

“Don’t be. That was impressive,” he says mildly, sitting down, still staring.

“More like ‘scary bitch’.” She says, more to herself than him.

“Sorry, you really lost all your chances of ever scaring me the morning I came out to the living room where you and Jane were having that sleepover. You were eating cereal and watching Spongebob in your Iron Man underwear. You made Tony’s day with that, by the way. He still talks about it.” Bruce says, tipping his glass in her direction before drinking.

Darcy knows she should probably feel something about that, like, shame or... something, but frankly, she’s kinda proud.

“Of course he does. I’m fabulous.” She giggles as she gestures to the waitress for another drink.

It’s forty minutes later and another half-cleared Zombie, when Bruce finally breaks the small-talk.

“You know, now might be a good time to just take you home.”

“Oh, Doctor Banner, I had no idea you were so - hic - forward,” she teases, mock-scandalized and grinning.

“I meant back to your apartment.”

“Fine. Be all gentlemanly and shit.”

“I will.” He says this dryly, and Darcy giggles. She can’t help it. All sexiness aside, she really does like him. He’s kind of awesome.

“I’m gonna go ahead and just ignore that.” He says, finishing off his drink, and looking pointedly away.

“Ignore what? Oh, shit.” Darcy face-palms. She totally fucking said that out loud. Fucking rum. Totally makes her blabber. Maybe now really is a good time to go.

“Yeah. Now’s a good time to take you home- your home.” He stresses before she can make another comment.

“Fine. You’re alway welcome at my place.” And she tries to wink, but she’s pretty sure it looked more like a neurological malfunction of the face. A nervous tic, maybe?

“Bell’s Palsy, more like,” Bruce tells her.

“Shit! I did it again?”

Bruce looks somewhere between pitying and amused.

\----

“Okay, so why are we headed back to your place?” Darcy asks a hour later. “You were all ‘Oh, no, I gotta be a good guy and take you back to your place,’ and yet, here we are, on our way to the fabulous Stark Tower.”

“Because when the cab driver asked where you lived you said ‘the place with the thing.’” Bruce explains as the cab pulls up to the curb.

“Yeah, the big thing. I know.” She says, and what else is she supposed to say? The thing on the building is huge, and... green. She just can’t remember what it’s called.

“Yeah. So I sat with you for half an hour trying to get you to tell me where you live and the closest I can guess is a vine-covered brick building.”

“Yeah! The green shit on the side of the building.” Darcy confirms happily.

“Not enough to go on. You could live anywhere,” Bruce says, standing her up, “So I brought you here.”

“Well, I guess that- OH MY GOD.” Darcy breaks away from him, nearly tripping in her excitement and her ridiculous heels as her run takes her down the street.

“What?!” Bruce demands, bewildered as he takes off after her. It’s two blocks later he finally catches up and sees what she went after.

“That’s a puppy,” he remarks, mildly, and with really admirable patience.

“Yes. It is!” she says, happily. “He’s my new baby!” She cuddles the pathetic, scrawny ball of fluff and whimpers that she had, improbably, spotted from quite a distance.

“Really?” Bruce asks, raising an eyebrow. “You have a cat, you know.”

“Yes, but look at this little guy, all skinny and sad,” she points out, and he has to admit, she’s got a point. The puppy looks a lot skinnier than could be considered healthy and he’s covered in dirt and filth. “He needs me, Bruce.” She says this with determination, as the puppy curls up as tightly as it can in her arms, shivering from fear or cold, Bruce isn’t sure. Looks like Stark Tower gets more than one extra guest tonight.

“Okay, fine.” He relents, and they start making their way back.

“He needs a name.” Darcy says, stumbling slightly on her heels. Bruce reaches out to steady her, slightly impressed she hasn’t tripped and fallen on her heels yet. “I should name him after the guy who stood me up tonight. He was a sad dog, too.”

Bruce can’t help the snort of laughter. “Great plan.”

“Eh, not really,” Darcy says, “‘Asshole’ is a terrible name for a dog.”

“I thought it was Douche-Canoe.” Bruce comments and Darcy shrugs, hugging the puppy tighter. Bruce just nods and goes with it. He’s known Darcy long enough now to know that this is pretty much always the best approach.

They step into the elevator and Bruce hits a button on the floor display.

“Uh...” Darcy goes to speak and Bruce raises a questioning eyebrow, “So, guest room, I s’pose?” she finally asks. Bruce shakes his head.

“Leaving you alone, this drunk?” Bruce questions, “Not a good idea.”

“Afraid I’ll choke on my own vomit?” she asks, making a grossed-out face.

“Yeah, that.” Bruce says slowly, trying to rid himself of that mental image, “Also afraid you’ll wake up at 3am drunk off your ass deciding to make scrambled eggs and start a fire. This is safer.”

“Fair enough.” Darcy concedes. “What I am supposed to do with this?” She asks, holding the puppy out to Bruce.

“You’re the one who ran two blocks to catch him.”

“Yeah, but...”

“Here, I have an idea.” He presses the button for the floor below his. A few moments later, the door opens, and he steps inside the dimly-lit  room just long enough to settle the puppy on a blanket he's taken off the sofa onto the floor. The puppy lets out a small whine and curls up, exhausted and scared.

He’d feel worse about the whole thing, but he knows that puppy will be spoiled as all hell come morning.

He steps back onto the elevator, where Darcy is removing her shoes and desperately trying not to lose her balance and fall over as she does so. “Did you really just - whoa.” She grabs the railing to regain her balance. “-pawn my lost puppy off on Captain America?”

“Yep.”

“Nice.”

“Well, let’s wait and see if Tony lets him keep it.”

“Like Tony could ever tell Steve ‘no.’”

“Fair point.”

“Should we leave a note with his name?”

“I doubt Steve wants a dog named Asshole. Or Douche-Canoe.”

“You never know.” Darcy says, giggling.

The door opens again, and they step into Bruce’s living room, where Darcy tosses her shoes in the corner.

“Come on.” He says, taking her by the hand and leading her into the bedroom.

“Doctor Banner, I’m flattered!” she says in a mock-breathless tone, and he can’t help but roll his eyes. “But what will the others think if they find out about us?”  

He digs around in his dresser until he finds an old worn shirt that’s almost too small for him and a pair of sweatpants that might not fall off her hips. “They’ll think you’re quite the drunk, and I’ll tell them they’re right, too.” He holds them out to her and she looks at him, bewildered.

“Unless you want to sleep in that.” He says, dryly, gesturing at her tight skirt and top. She looks down and seems to realize if her top shifts a couple more inches, she’s literally gonna pop out of it.

“Thank ya, kind sir.” She says, and promptly begins to strip.

“Oh, no. No, no, no.” He repeats, catching her hand and pulling her top back down before he sees anything more than the bottom half of her bra. He gently pushes her into the bathroom. “Change in here, please."

“You’re such a fucking gentleman.” Darcy accuses, as though it’s a bad thing. He shuts the bathroom door behind her, ignoring her remark, and leaves her to deal with her clothing alone. He goes into the kitchen and takes a bottle of water out of the fridge and a bottle of aspirin out of the cupboard. She’s gonna need both of those.

He goes back into the bedroom and sets the items down on the nightstand, just as Darcy opens the bathroom door. He was right, the pants he gave her won’t fall off her hips, but it’s a close thing. His t-shirt is a couple sizes too big, but fortunately, it looks comfortable to sleep in, and fortunately covers more than her previous attire.

“You take the bed, I’ll take the couch,” he tells her, “and water and aspirin are right there if... when you need them, I’ll be in the living room if you need me. I’ll check up on you every now and then; make sure you’re okay.”

She looks at him with something close to wishful longing, suddenly serious and it’s more than a little unnerving.

“Are you okay?” he asks, stepping close to her. “Something wrong?”

“No, no,” she says quietly, “Actually, I think I might just be getting something right for once.”

And with that, she leans closer to him and angles her mouth towards his. But, unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on one’s point of view, she has to get up on her tip-toes to accomplish this task, and she’s not as well-balanced as she was in her heels.

She makes a grab at Bruce as she over-balances and falls, but it’s too late and before she knows it, she’s sitting on his floor, giggling hysterically.

“Are you okay?” he asks, concerned and crouching down next to her.

“I’m fine.” She manages to get out between giggles, “The universe just really fucking hates me today, doesn’t it?”

“Just a bad day, tomorrow will be better.”

“It better be or I am never getting out of bed again.” She says, sadly, yet somehow still giggling as he helps her up, and pulls the covers back on his bed. “Seriously, never again.”

“Seeing as how it would be my bed you’re never getting out of...that would be very awkward. I’d have to move floors and everything.”

Ignoring his remark, Darcy slides under the covers and presses her face into his pillow, inhaling deeply. “Smells like you,” she says softly, and Bruce feels himself blush. “It’s good."

“Uh, thanks, I guess,” he says,  pulling the covers up over her. “I’ll see you in the morning, Darcy.” He says, gently, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

He’s almost out of the room when she calls out, “Can I try that again, tomorrow?”

Bruce lets a beat of silence pass, unsure of how he should answer before he settles on:

“Good night, Darcy.” He steps out of the room and sits down on the sofa.

“I’m taking that as a ‘yes!’”

As Bruce heads towards his couch, he finds himself wondering what he hopes more: that Darcy doesn’t remember in the morning, or that she does.


End file.
